


Strict Tempo

by RapidashPatronus



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Strictly Come Dancing RPF
Genre: Ballroom Dancing, Competition, Dancing Lessons, F/M, Latin dancing, Slow Burn, a rogue one ballroom silmarillion to back this up, aka the dance au nobody asked for, all mapped out, behold my nerdery, don't even ASK for details because I have them all, it's like an encyclopaedia of appendices, the slowest and burniest slow burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-29
Updated: 2018-05-07
Packaged: 2019-01-26 08:33:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12553448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RapidashPatronus/pseuds/RapidashPatronus
Summary: War correspondent Jyn Erso has somehow found herself one of this year's fifteen victims for Strictly Come Dancing. Teamed with new professional Cassian Andor, she must face her nerves to dance each week in front of millions - and just try not to fall.





	1. Launch

**Author's Note:**

> HUGE apologies to everyone waiting for an update on Counting Weeds - it's coming, I promise you, very soon. A Lot has been happening and I stopped writing anything at all for quite a while (it's a very, very good Lot, in case you're worried - but has just been distracting in terms of getting anything written) until I just decided to let go and have fun with something a bit silly. CW will update soon!

“Did you hear the latest announcement?”

“What?”

“Strictly; who they announced today?”

“No, who?”

“Jyn Erso, apparently.”

“Who?”

“Exactly, right? I don’t know, BBC News or something.”

“Wait, hold on, the war correspondent?”

“God, I don’t know.”

“Jeez, she’ll not last.”

“I don’t even know what she looks like.”

“My money’s on Tallulah Johnson.”

“Yeah, she’ll be good, but she’s got training, she went to like stage school or something.”

“Yeah, it’s not fair when they do that.”

“Nah, but she’ll be good though.”

“Are they going to announce anyone else I’ve actually heard of?”

“Tallulah Johnson.”

“Anyone else, I said.”

“Chirrut Imwe is rumoured.”

“Wait, WHAT, the lifestyle guy?”

“Yeah, god knows how that would work.”

“Has anyone noticed he’s, you know, blind?”

“And gay.”

“And  _ blind _ . What’s gay got to do with it, you daft twat?”

“The bookies are putting Jyn Erso’s best odds to go out in week five.”

“Nobody knows who she is, nobody will vote for her.”

“Yeah but the judges might keep her in.”

“I guess.”

“I love Strictly! Means it’s nearly Christmas!”

“It’s fucking September.”

\---

 

Jyn stared at herself in the mirror as the hair girl put the last spritz of hairspray over her. She inhaled a little, and coughed.

She did not look like Jyn Erso. Her hair was not in a low bun; it was… curled, and  _ interfered  _ with. She blinked, hyper-conscious of her eyelids, of the crunchy glue that stuck on these absurd lashes. Her face felt like it was going to crack under eight pounds of makeup. She was about to step out onto a red carpet, where the screaming was not of shells and mortars or of children torn from their mothers, but of dance fans, pop culture addicts, celebrity hacks who had the audacity to call themselves journalists. She shook, and took a breath.

She wanted her jacket back, her bulletproof vest. Instead – bugle beads in Cadbury purple. Heels in strappy bronze. She felt exposed, terrified. How had she agreed to this? Too late to back out now… it was the launch show. Time To Meet The Stars Of Our Show. And after? No, she couldn’t think about after. At least right now, she didn’t have to dance. Just walk carefully, and smile convincingly, and say she was excited. Just lie.

Shepherded into position behind some giant cutout of a spaceship, and she’d never seen so much glitter in her life. Everything coruscated like city embers, a garish approximation of splendour, and behind her, fucking John Pollard was doing that stupid pose he’d made his name with, over and over, trying for a laugh, just to calm himself. She was going to punch him if he kept doing that. Even Tallulah Johnson looked nervous, and apparently she was favourite to win, or something. And there was Han Solo to her left, just staring grim-faced. Chirrut Imwe seemed calm enough, but he always did, or so she was told. Whoever he was. She hadn’t had a clue who half of these people were until a few weeks ago. Han Solo, she’d heard of, of course. Never seen his movies but who  _ hadn’t _ heard of his reputation? But soap operas, hospital dramas, pop groups, light entertainment – they didn’t exactly feature much on her priorities in Syria.

The stage manager grinned, then muttered into his headset, and she could hear the screeching of the crowd, and music, and the stupid spaceship thing lifted, and there was the stairway spreading away from her in a mawkish crimson river, down to the plaza with the baying hordes and the explosions of flashbulbs, and that was it, that was it, walk forward and down and mind the heels and don’t fall, just don’t fall. Don’t fall.

 

\---

 

“Fuck.”

Jyn wasn’t the only one to swear this afternoon. She wasn’t the only one to turn left instead of right and to forget that section with the blip-blorp. That worked, she found. Give the steps names she could remember. The choreographer called “ball-change” and she just watched Tallulah in front of her. Ok, so that’s what that means. Blip-blorp. Ball-change made no sense at all because you ended up on the exact same foot as you started. It wasn’t change if you changed back, surely? So blip-blorp.

“Take a break.”

There was a groan of relief, and they all broke to the sides of the room to grab their water and towels.

“Third position?” laughed John as he trundled. “How can you start in third, no wonder I’m stalling! Bonk-bonk!”

Jyn smiled with a shake of her head. She was surprised to find she liked John. He was nice, once you got past his need for comic validation. “No idea,” she said, and pushed her towel across her face.

“It’s a sort of L-shape.” Tallulah was standing timidly behind him; she stepped around and demonstrated. “That’s arms in third.”

Tallulah was nice, too, Jyn had found. A little taller than her, a blonde starlet from a girl group Jyn was meant to have heard of, she seemed almost afraid of her own experience. She’d never ballroom danced before, she protested quietly, time and again.

Jyn didn’t think it was entirely fair, all the same. If you had a grounding in ballet, or tap, or jazz - apparently that was a thing, jazz - you already knew this stuff. Third position and ball-change and shit. You knew how to move your body. Jyn knew how to move her body when a building was crumbling, and third position had never saved her life, but she’d never had to duck and cover in front of nine million people; it irritated her that she felt something like fear for something so trivial. Just remember L-arms and blip-blorp, and just try not to go out in the first week. Which you couldn't do, anyway, because there was no elimination in week one. Perhaps they'd make an exception once they saw her...

So there was her, and Tallulah, and John; Han Solo, joking in a corner with Casey Rowland, a chiselled blond guy from a hospital drama. Chirrut Imwe, the lifestyle guy, was leaning against the barre with his hand resting on the arm of Henrietta Falpis, an Olympic triathelete. To all appearances, he was using her to place himself, but Jyn looked closer and saw he was talking quietly, and Henrietta was nodding with a reassured expression. It was amazing, Jyn mused, what he was capable of provided someone put him in the right spot to begin with. He stood behind her, but she’d spotted a couple of flashes of him in the full-length mirror and he looked like he knew what he was doing.

She tried not to look in the mirror too much.

Then there were George, Kwasei, Rita, and Tanira, from various dramas and soaps she didn’t know. Actually, no, wait, Tanira was from some reality thing. It was hard to remember everything - that was right, yeah, she was the one who won some weight loss programme and now had a show helping others to do the same. It seemed to Jyn to be a funny thing to be famous for, but whatever, good for her.

Tall and nervous in the far corner: Penny Wright, from the 80s sitcom  _ Far & Near _ . Someone Jyn actually had heard of, but she couldn’t really face talking to her just yet. She remembered watching repeats of  _ Far & Near  _ with her father; he’d laughed a lot and she had too, although she hadn’t really got the jokes. It popped up now again on radio clip shows, if she left the radio on while she worked late. Some famous iconic scene with a stuffed chameleon. She turned it off.

Standing with Penny and chattering at nineteen to the dozen was Bodhi Rook, a slight young man from a defunct boyband, and Louise Dallow, the… shit, what did Louise do? Oh yes, horses - dressage rider, that was it. And last of all, standing alone with her eyes closed and counting, her feet shifting in a tiny, embarrassed version of the routine, Rebecca Trueford, the property presenter.

That was the group. The fifteen victims. She felt like she should be sussing out the competition, but it wasn’t like she expected to stay long enough for it to matter. Just not first out, please not first out. All the same, she didn’t want to be the kind to try and work out who might go ahead of her.

What  _ did _ interest her was speculating on who their partners might be. They’d met all the professionals at a weird, orchestrated thing in a gym hall, with the cameras rolling, and she’d tried to act delighted like everyone else was doing. She couldn’t remember all their names; it had been a lot to deal with all at once. Some of her fellow contestants were fans of the show, knew most of them by name already, seemed starstruck, even. They all seemed very friendly and pleasant, at least, all painfully good-looking and… well,  _ dancer _ -looking. There were only two who looked short enough for her - a cheerful Northern chap called Kevin and a kid who looked like he’d just barely sat the Eleven Plus. Tomorrow, they’d be dancing tryouts with two or three potential partners so the producers could suss out how to match them. She crossed her fingers for Kevin - dancing with an infant was not where she saw her dignity going.

But first -

“Ok, everyone, back in, find a space, let’s go.”

\- she had to learn the routine.

“Five, six, seven, eight -”

“ _ Fuck _ .”

 

\---

 

Jyn was, if nothing else, a worker. She’d skipped ahead of school two years, worked two jobs beside her A-Levels to save up enough for university. There was a means-tested grant, back then, and she’d got it, and her loan had covered the fees. She’d worked at a bed shop throughout her degree: Journalism and Politics at Bristol. Law conversion year at Cambridge. She looked good on their books - look, we, Mighty Cambridge, have taken in this poor bright foster child of no fiscal means… Edited the student paper, too, because it was important to have extra-curricular interests as well as reading six books a week and writing five essays a month and working a twenty-hour weekend in Subway till you came home reeking of red onions and cheap bread and meatballs, just in time to learn the Housing Act off by heart for the next day’s seminar.

Well, it wasn’t like she spent any time calling home, at least.

And then from graduation to a year volunteering in the Gaza Strip, and then to the BBC newsroom, up and up, a meteoric rise, until now, at 26, she was a household name - apparently - the earnest, unflinching face in front of the dust-yellow mockeries that were once somebody’s home.

And so Jyn Erso went back to the serviced apartment in Chiswick that the BBC was renting for her, and had a shower, and ate some toast, and folded away the kitchen table, and plugged her phone into a tinny little speaker, and practised the steps.


	2. Week 1 Training: Tango

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jyn meets her partner and training begins somewhat unsteadily. She buys some shoes.

His name was Cassian and he was too tall.

She’d feigned delight at the launch show - “Yes! I was hoping it would be him!” she’d said.  _ I couldn’t even remember his name _ , she’d thought - wouldn’t forget easily the flash of shock in his face when they’d said his name, hoped it hadn’t shown in her own.

She’d expected Kevin. He’d clearly expected her, to some extent. What flashed in Cassian as shock flashed in him as relief. Too nice to let it show for long, both of them.

She’d danced with both of them a little before; Jyn had been convinced it was just for - whatever - some reason of suspense, like awkward speed dating - when she was pretty certain the mismatch with Cassian was obvious. But, she’d reflected later, as she lay in bed, he was new this series. They probably wanted to pair their better-known, better-liked dancers with people who actually stood a chance of sticking around into October. Put the newbie with the concrete donkey and nobody will miss them…

It annoyed her that it played on her mind. It didn’t  _ matter _ ; it wasn’t  _ important _ . At least she hadn’t messed up the dance at the launch show. None of them had, that much. So she’d slept.

Now it was 5:30am and she was on her way to a dance studio in Turnham Green. This was not her life. She rolled up with a Costa and a scowl, to find Poppy, the achingly chirpy production assistant, waiting for her outside.

“O- _ kay _ !” Poppy sang brightly - and god, how did she do it, with her scarf and her curls and her lanyards and her  _ energy  _ \- “So, we’ve got the crew in there to catch you coming in, Cassian’s already in there, so just say hi and stuff, then you guys can chat for a moment while we reposition and then, well, you can just get on, ignore us. Get dancing. Exc _ iting _ !” She snapped her fingers enthusiastically.

Jyn had never in her career been forced to work with a production assistant who wore Uggs and said “ex _ citing _ ” and snapped her fingers. It was usually a man or woman as grey-faced and urgent as herself, checking over their shoulders for daylight, or for danger.

Poppy whipped out a radio-mic and watched while Jyn threaded it awkwardly down her top, clipping the pack to her sweatpants. Finally, she stepped out of the way and Jyn pushed open the door.

“Hi..!” she said, a coy attempt at something approaching Poppy’s enthusiasm, as she slunk into the studio. She wasn’t fazed by cameras in her face, at least. That was familiar.

Cassian looked up. It was impressive, since his face had until then been planted firmly somewhere around his knees, with his hands on his ankles. How did anyone bend themselves like that? He unfolded himself and stood with an easy smile.

“Hey. Ready to get to work?”

_ Not really _ . “Sure, let’s do this! Make me a dancer, Cassian Andor!”

His smile broadened into a grin as she dumped her coffee and jacket in the corner.

“You’re gonna be amazing,” he said encouragingly. She doubted his sincerity.

“Ok, good!” called Poppy from the door. “Alright, just give us a moment, we’ll set up over here, give us half an hour, just talk, catch up, whatever.”

Cassian dived into his bag - one of those infuriating cylindrical bags that only people who wanted to look Athletic ever carried, Jyn noticed - and pulled out his phone.

“Number.”

She told him; he entered it; a moment passed and her jacket buzzed in the corner.

“So you’re an Android man,” she observed pointlessly. To her surprise, he let out a short laugh as he shoved it back into his bag.

“You’re gonna try and convert me?” He shot her a mischievous grin over his shoulder.

Ok, maybe they’d get on alright.

“I’m telling you, try Apple and you’ll never look back…” she laughed.

He turned back to her. “Oh, you’re starting early!”

“God,” she sighed, “tell me about it. The sun’s barely up. Did you have to travel far to get here?”

He shook his head. “I’m staying in the Hammersmith.”

In “the” Hammersmith… “Where are you from?”

“Mexico,” he said, and suddenly pointed down at her trainers. “Off. You can’t dance in those. Get some heels.”

Jyn stared at him and fought back an irrational resentment. Just take off the goddamn shoes. "Right, so I’m better barefoot for now..?” she said as she sat on the floor and began to untie her laces. "I thought these would be alright.”

He was back at his bag, checking his phone again. “Different posture.”

Jyn shuffled back against the mirror. “So Mexico; are you more Latin than ballroom, or -?” She stopped herself. God, did that sound racist?

He huffed out another short laugh. "Don't worry, you're in safe hands with the ballroom side, too. We've got tango this week."

"So I suppose I'll just have to wait till  _ next  _ week to see if you're hyping your ballroom prowess!"

It was meant to be a tease, something to diffuse her awkward “Latin” comment, but he regarded her with amusement and she winced. "Don't tell me. Tango's ballroom, isn't it."

Cassian sat down beside her, his back against the long mirrors she knew she would grow to hate. "Have you ever danced at all?"

It was like a line now, something she could reel off. It was the question they all asked each other, the question the press always asked first: have you ever danced before? "Not since I took ballet for two weeks when I was ten, hated it and switched to judo." And then, by habit now, before she could stop herself, the soundbite: "So I can give as good as I get in the training room at least!"

Luckily, he didn’t react. “How long did you do judo?”

“Only five years,” she answered. “I was working up to my blue belt when I stopped.” And that was more detail than he needed.

“This is good,” he smiled sideways at her. “That’s a good start. You’ve got body control, you’ll be aware of yourself-”

“It was eleven years ago-”

“It’s still a good start. Any yoga, pilates..?”

Jyn shook her head again. “Just standard; cardio, weights. When I can. I’ve been off for a bit.”

She kept saying more than she meant to. It annoyed her. Luckily, if he noticed, he didn't show it; nothing seemed to move him from his line of enquiry. That kind of single-mindedness, she could get on board with, at least.

Jyn balled up her socks and stuffed them into her useless trainers. “So - barefoot for now?”

“Heels tomorrow,” Cassian nodded curtly. “Proper ballroom shoes. They’re more comfortable. Now let’s get you warmed up.”

Poppy and the crew were still faffing in the corner, to Jyn’s lack of surprise. She was plenty used to the hurry-up-and-wait game that went into making television. There was quite a bit more of the hurry-up in broadcast journalism, but all the same…

She stood, and began to go through her usual pre-workout stretches. Cassian’s scrutiny was unnerving; he seemed to be taking in every detail, assessing her.

“Don’t watch,” she muttered. “You can at least trust me to stretch out for myself.”

A chill descended. Cassian studied her for a long moment, then seemed almost to shrug. He reached over to his bag and pulled out his phone again.

Jyn finished stretching in silence - or what passed for it, with the four people in the corner shifting and shifting back and discussing the merits and flaws of this or that choice of whatever. Finally, deciding that if she stretched any more she’d be a broken slinky, she sat down next to her bag and followed Cassian’s lead; he was texting. She checked her emails.

Contract info; EchoSign contract link; EchoSign NDA link (another one; god, they were covering themselves some, weren’t they); the link Tanira had promised to send her to this apparently magical smoothie maker; HR again; question from the guy renting her place in Salford about how to work the washing machine; Welfare; news alert; fuck, Sephi again, it was like having a stalker or something; EchoSign NDA link - oh, right, the one above superseded this one...

“Oh- _ kayyyy _ ,” beamed Poppy at length. She seemed unfazed by the distance between Jyn and Cassian as they both looked up from their phones. “Can we get you sitting cross-legged, like, opposite each other just  _ here _ ” - she gestured at a patch of floor where, Jyn recognised, there was less glare from the window, but which to Cassian probably looked totally arbitrary - “and Cassian, can you tell her which dance you’re going to be working on, big surprise, so react, Jyn, and then say shall we get on or something, yeah?”

Cassian glanced her way; she was already up and moving into position. He slid over on the floor to sit opposite her.

“Just turn this way a bit, Cass,” said one of the crew cheerfully. He turned obediently with the barest flicker of his expression. “That’s great, ta.”

“Ok, and - no, wait.” Poppy skittered over to the wall and gathered up Jyn’s jacket and trainers. She brought them over and arranged them in a carefully casual dump beside Jyn. “You’ve just come in.”

_ I got here just over an hour ago. _ Jyn just nodded.

“Right. Go. Wait.” She ran away again and returned with Jyn’s empty Costa cup. “Hold? Cool. Just twist it so we can’t see the - yeah, cool. Yeah, go.”

Cassian’s smile flicked on and he leant in conspiratorially. “So this week we are doing the ballroom tango.” The smile twitched.

“Great!” enthused Jyn, riling internally at the dig. “Sounds like a good challenge!”

“So shall we get to work?”

“Let’s do it!” Jyn was sure she’d never spoken with so many exclamation marks in her life as she had in the last ten seconds.

“PERFECT,” called Poppy. “Great, guys, great. Perfect. Can we just do it again? Exactly the same, it was perfect.”

 

\---

 

It was almost 8am already by the time the crew left. They would come back for more training footage in two days’ time, then again the following week, they said. And good luck! They said. Good luck. Poppy snapped her fingers.

Suddenly, the studio was empty, and large. She looked at Cassian nervously. He was all hard lines and angles - narrow, lean, poised - watching her intently again, just leaning against the wall with his arms folded. It was unsettling.

“Right.” She marched up to him; she wasn’t going to feel intimidated. “Let’s get to work.”

Cassian nodded, and pushed himself forward off the wall. “We’re not going to learn any routine today,” he told her, walking past her into the middle of the studio and beckoning her over. “Not for a couple of days, probably. No music. Just hold, and technique. I’ll teach you the basic steps and get your posture right. We’ll build a routine on top of that when you’ve got it.”

“What’s our song?”

He gave her a wry, sideways smile. “It’s The Jam. News of the World.”

She stared at him.

“They think it’s funny.”

“My job’s hilarious,” she answered.

He quirked an eyebrow. “Get over here. Let’s get in hold.”

Jyn took a deep breath and went over, stopping a foot away from him to grab his shoulder with her left hand. She stuck her right arm out to the side and glared at the floor.

“Hand on my back,” came Cassian’s voice from above. “Over my arm and against my back, like this-” - he stepped into the space between them and placed his hand gently behind her. “See? It just rests. Not this -” he gripped her shoulder painfully tight, then returned his hand to her back - “-but this.”

Jyn nodded at the floor - where his feet now were - and moved her hand round. It brought her uncomfortably close. Her eyes were just about level with the neckline of his grey t-shirt.

Cassian twisted further in to rest his hand against her back and lifted her other hand out again. “Better.” He twitched his right hand. “Now stand tall.”

“How tall do you think I can get?” she grumbled at his throat. It moved as he laughed.

“Heels. Now, come on.”

 

\---

 

Jyn didn’t believe in comfort zones. Comfort zones got you killed. She would deny she had one at all, except that she was horribly aware that this was right out of it. Body to body with a man she didn’t know, being prodded and adjusted like an artist’s mannequin (“Just lift your elbow a bit,” he’d said, actually handling her), forced to hold the most uncomfortable position (“Drop your shoulders; head back.”) and the whole time, a hand gently pressing and releasing at her back, trying to steer and guide.

Slow, slow, quick-quick, slow, stalking around the room like an absolute idiot, and she was losing patience; they only had the studio until 2.

“Are we going to actually dance any time?” she muttered eventually. “Or just keep doing the Ministry of Silly Walks for the next two weeks?”

“I told you,” he said, releasing her and stepping back, “we’re focusing on-”

“I’d rather get on and learn as we go,” she interrupted. “This feels stupid and we’ve only got two hours left today.”

He regarded her inscrutably for a long moment, then apparently reached a decision. “Fine,” he said. “You start over there.”

She’d annoyed him, and it annoyed her. She was better than this. She knew how to work with difficult people, and that she herself was a difficult person to work with, and sometimes you just shut up and got on with it. But usually, what she was getting on with was something she knew she was good at.

"Over here?"

"The story is I'm your cameraman and we have an argument about where you should be standing, and that argument becomes the dance."

Jyn managed to stop herself from rolling her eyes. "It doesn't work like that."

"You don't argue with me yet," he said. His smile was simple but firm.

She relented. "Ok, now what?"

"I will say, 'You need to move over there,' and you say 'I think it works better here,' and I will say 'Do we have to have this argument every time?', and then we start to argue, you can just say whatever you like, we're just shouting at each other, and then we're in hold. That's our setup. That's where the tension comes from." He walked over to her, seemingly forgetting they had been about to start. "See, the tango is very sharp-"

"You said."

"-very staccato, so it's good as a sort of argument dance, a fight dance. Originally it was a lot more lyrical, the Argentine, if we get that far” - Jyn noticed that - “you'll see, is much smoother, more sensual. Americans got hold of it and made this ballroom tango, sort of a caricature. I don’t like it so much, but it’s a good one to start with. So then we get in hold” - he pulled her in without warning and looked down at her - “and set off in basic.”

Jyn swallowed her discomfort and moved her hand onto his back. Personal space was not a valid concern right now. “Basic?”

“What we’ve just been doing. The - what did you call it?”

She coloured. “Ministry of Silly Walks.”

He laughed again, then, properly, his eyes lining with mirth and his shoulderblade shaking under her hand. Jyn flushed again, relieved he hadn’t taken the jibe personally.

“It’s a - it’s an old sketch…” she started to explain, but Cassian just shook his head and re-found his posture, arranging his face back into something more studious.

“Ok, sixteen counts in basic, starting that way” - he twitched her outstretched hand very faintly to indicate - “and then we’ll stop and I’ll teach you the rock so we can turn, ok?”

Jyn hummed her agreement, gave a nod, and they set off again.

It was exactly the same as before, but now with purpose, and her brain counted “slow, slow, quick-quick, slow” like a mantra until they reached sixteen, and the corner of the room.

Cassian pulled her to a halt abruptly. “See your shoulder like this?” He gestured with his nose at her shoulder. “This is why you need heels. You’re up here around your ear, reaching up to me. Tomorrow.”

She nodded. “I said.”

“Good. Because you will just sink into yourself like this.”

“I said I’d get some.” Jyn couldn’t keep the edge from her voice and put some space between them.

“No, in,” he instructed, pulling her against him again. “And walk.”

 

\---

 

They had about eight bars set when 2 o’clock came. Cassian suggested going for coffee, cooling off, a chat. Instead, Jyn checked her phone and found Freed of London, and hopped on the District Line, promising to return tomorrow with shoes.

There was no room for feeling edgy about this stuff, Jyn told herself as she rattled through Ravenscourt. Dancing in hold was what it was all about. She just -

She didn’t like to think about it, really. She just preferred the space, was all. Cassian was alright, she was sure. A bit brittle, maybe, and expecting too much of her, but he was probably ok if you knew him outside of the context of -

Whatever. Just get the fucking shoes and don’t think about it until tomorrow.

 

\---

 

Freed of London was impressive, if small. Outside, gold ionic capitals curlicued around the door in rococo opulence. Inside, it was gently busy; the people in there didn’t look like they’d eaten a meal in eight years.

“Can I help you?” A New York accent. A lithe, long-nosed boy with shoulder-length hair was stepping over to her like a dressage horse; the perfect Prince Siegfried. “I’m Alexander.”

Jyn shuffled. “Ballroom shoes,” she muttered sheepishly, feeling like everybody in there was wondering, as she was, what the hell she was doing in their realm.

“Sure thing! Beginner?”

“Yeah.”

“Take a seat over here,” he smiled. “I’ll bring you some options. Size?”

“Six.”

“Be right back.”

Jyn sat nervously on a bank of pouffes and tried to avoid eye contact with the antelopes that surrounded her, poking at leotards and throwing around terminology that neither made sense nor mattered to her.

Alexander reappeared with a tower of neat boxes and set them down with impossible elegance. They were boxes, for fuck’s sake. Did people actually move like that?

“So,” Alexander smiled, plié-ing down to her feet and smiling up at her, “starting lessons? These get popular around this time of year, lots of people getting the Strictly bug.”

Jyn coloured. “Yeah, just starting.”

“You a Strictly fan?”

“Um… I’m actually a contestant this year.”

Jyn had no idea why she said it. She was tired, she was upset, she’d had a hard morning, she felt wickedly out of place here, and Alexander’s smile was so easy and pleasant that she just didn’t have the will to hold it back. His mouth dropped open.

“You are?! Oh my God!” He sat back on his heels in delight. “I’ll have to watch it. When does it start?”

“Two weeks,” she answered, feeling sick. “The 24th.”  _ Shit _ .

“Right,” he grinned. “I’ll watch and I’ll vote for you. I’ll look out for the shoes.”

Jyn found herself smiling back. “I think we get shoes for the show… these are for practising in… but thanks.”

Alexander suddenly couldn’t do enough to help her. Pair after pair of apparently identical shoes were fitted to her feet and rejected after a quick walk around. (“Try a progressive chassé!” he suggested once, and Jyn scurried back to her seat with a shake of her head, feeling like everyone was watching her.) Finally, a neat pair of closed-toes shoes in black satin seemed to satisfy him.

“These are actually comfortable enough to walk home in,” she said to him in amazement.

“Now you probably shouldn’t,” he answered seriously. “The fabric isn’t cut out for streetwear and you’ll damage the-”

“I was joking.”

“Oh my God, sorry!” he sashayed his way across to the till. “You just wouldn’t believe how often I see beginners so excited with their shoes they want to wear them home.”

“Alexander,” confided Jyn, resting her elbows on the counter. “I promise you I am not excited at all. I am bloody terrified.”

He bent down and leant over the counter to her in return. “You’ll be great. I’ll vote, ok?”

“You won’t once you’ve seen me!”

He laughed. She laughed. God, it was good to laugh about it. Why had she been so bothered? Just dance with the guy, and go out, fine, week two if she had to, first one out, what did it matter? She had a job she was good at and the people who already knew who she was probably didn’t give a shit if she crashed out on a bloody… tango or whatever. Just take the ride and deal with it.

Suddenly, Alexander straightened up and called out, “Listen up, everyone!”

“No, Alexan-”

“You’ve all got to vote for Jyn Erso on Strictly, ok?”

She turned around and waved coyly.

“Jyn Erso, remember, on the 24th!”

“Actually there’s no public vote in Week 1-”

Suddenly it felt like the whole world was around her. In reality, it was about six people, but they all wanted to know - what was Strictly like (fun), was the new dancer guy she was with nice because he was  _ cute  _ (a tough teacher), had she met Craig yet (yes, he’s lovely off camera), what was Han Solo like in person (friendly enough)...

She finally escaped and fled toward Covent Garden. If she’d ever earned a macaron from Ladurée, it was today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, the sharp among you might have picked up either or both of the in-jokes here. Yes, the dance shop assistant is Alex the dancer from Mozart in the Jungle. Also, he works at Freed. So that's... Alexander Freed (may he be ever honoured in our fandom).
> 
> There will be more Alexander, and more Poppy, in chapters to come. There will also be more Sephi. There will probably not be more EchoSign because I'm not on bloody commission for them.


	3. Week One: Tango

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cassian tries to connect with Jyn, the first live show approaches at a horrifying pace, the contestants have a group chat, and the show finally opens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This week, Jyn and Cassian dance a tango to "News of the World" by The Jam.
> 
> \---==] NEED REFERENCES? [==---  
> \- [This](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TdYyeNM6THg) is what a good tango should look like.  
> \- [ This](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1FIcxb0G_aE) is the song they're dancing to.

Cassian was frustrated. He’d been doing his best with Jyn for nearly a week and it felt like she was fighting him the whole time. After the first morning, when she had been meek almost to the point of sullen, it seemed like everything he said, everything he tried, she wanted something else, she had another approach, she couldn’t do it, she wouldn’t do it. And then, after every session, she’d just go.

He didn’t really know anybody else here. The other professionals, yes; they set and rehearsed the pro routines for a few hours. He had a good chat with Gorka over coffee one afternoon. Kevin and Karen had asked him for dinner some time. Everyone was friendly.

Mostly, though, he didn’t mind the solitude. He walked around London, seeing the sights, or just wandering; alert, wary, but wandering nonetheless. And, more often than not, thinking about the contest. Thinking about Jyn.

He wanted to do well. He wanted  _ Jyn  _ to do well. There was a dancer somewhere in there; he could see it. Now and then, she would turn her head with just the right amount of snap, or her frame would suddenly strengthen, and he’d try to show her herself in the mirror… you see? - too late; it was gone.

Cassian had taught before; of course he had. But usually, the people he coached wanted to be there. They wanted to learn to dance. They paid a good amount to learn from someone who demonstrably knew what he was doing. And if they didn’t… he could choose either to take their money and keep going, or just tell them to walk. Neither course of action was an option here. Besides, he didn’t  _ want  _ to tell her to walk. She had the fire for tango. He just needed to work out the rest.

He’d compared notes with the others, how their partners were getting on. They teased Aljaz mercilessly for getting so lucky with Tallulah. “Remember us when you reach the final!” they’d all joked. But by and large, everyone seemed pleased with their partners’ progress - or they lied well. Cassian knew he lied well. “She’s gonna be great,” he’d said. “She’s doing great.”

She wasn’t.

It felt like hauling someone over fences, more than dancing. The shoes had made a difference, of course. Now she was roughly eye-level with his mouth, instead of somewhere down at his chest. If she’d only look at him while they danced, from time to time. He’d feel a bit less like he was dancing with a mannequin.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” he’d said to her. “It’s just a performance. You’re acting.”

Nada.

So he had an idea today.

He was already in the studio when she arrived, scarf flying, coffee in hand. The Jyn he was getting used to seeing in the morning, already. She even smiled at him when she arrived, now. One week; they could do this.

“Sorry,” she said, unwinding her scarf. “Couldn’t hack the Tube so I got a taxi but god, the traffic.”

“You won’t need those yet,” he said, and she looked up from pulling her shoes out of her bag, curiosity and alarm lighting her green eyes. “Just come and sit here,” he went on.

Jyn edged over, and what  _ was _ it with her? She always moved sideways like a feral cat, like he was going to bite her. She settled herself warily on the floor, and he folded himself down opposite her.

This could go either way.

“So, Jyn,” he began, “you’re doing really well getting the routine down. You’re learning the steps well.”

“Thanks!” And she actually grinned. He was glad he hadn’t, technically, lied; the grin was worth the truth to unlock. Just as quickly, it shut away again somewhere behind that serious face.

“We have to start making it look like a tango,” he went on. “I feel like you’re still not comfortable with me and we only have a week to go. I know it’s weird and doesn’t feel natural but I want us to just focus on looking at each other for a bit this morning.”

Jyn frowned and shifted. “Ok.”

He took her hands and smiled. “Ok. So we’re gonna talk, we’re gonna just have a conversation, but you’ve got to look at me, ok?”

“Ok,” she said again. She settled, and looked at him.

“Right. So. What did you have for breakfast this morning?”

“Wholemeal toast and a spinach smoothie. Tanira told me about this supposedly magical smoothie-maker thing so I’m giving it a go.”

“You’re not trying to lose weight?”

“Fuck no.”

“Good.”

“What about you?”

He laughed. “You saying I should?”

She laughed too. “I mean breakfast.”

“Oh.” He hesitated. “I had oatmeal. What’s the coffee you always get?”

She flickered away for an instant, huffed a self-deprecating laugh, and looked back. “Triple-shot Americano.” She paused. “Do you drink coffee?”

“Why don’t you find out after practice?”

She looked down. “I’ve got-”

“Jyn.” She didn’t look back up. “Is this the problem?”

“Can we just-”

“It’s nothing like that,” he said, letting go of her hands. “We just need to know each other. We’re not going to connect on the dancefloor until we do. It’s not...” He shrugged.

Jyn straightened, and met his eyes again. “Ok, good, because I’m not after that.”

“It’s not even on the table, ok?”

“Good.”

 

\---

 

It had helped, Jyn found. She hadn’t realised how much it bothered her. She didn’t want some dancer guy chasing her and she certainly wasn’t in a position to start having feelings for someone herself. Setting it out bluntly was a relief. It was how she dealt with things best, after all. It was probably stupid, anyway. He probably had a wife or a boyfriend or something back in Mexico. She just... 

She just wasn’t used to being so close to someone’s body.

The worst part was - the worst part was that every time she thought she was getting somewhere they had to break off so she could go and do an interview, or the studio was booked for someone else, or any number of petty interruptions, and however pragmatic she tried to stay, the creeping awareness remained that they only had four days left - three days left - costume fitting - two days left - director’s tape - into the studio, with the lights and the cameras everywhere and the other couples drifting past and now it was tomorrow, oh God…

 

\---

 

TANIRA said: TOMORROW, you guys! OMG!!

JYN said: Oh dear I seem to have broken my leg

TANIRA said: Not buying it Jynster!

PENNY said: Tanira you almost just made me sick into my breakfast.

TANIRA said: LOL

JOHN said: BLIMEY, anyone worked out how to stop time yet? (Karen says I haven’t even learned to keep it! Bonk bonk!)

CHIRRUT said: It will all go the best it can if we all do the best we can.

TANIRA said: YOU SAID IT CHIRRUT!

JYN said: Yeah, IF.

RITA said: I am just not built for American Smooth, you guys!

JYN said: You looked amazing, Reet, what I saw. You’ll smash it.

TALLULAH said: Rita, you’ll be great! We all will!

JOHN said: I’ll smash something, that’s for sure.

HENRIETTA said: I feel sick too, Penny.

GEORGE said: Anyone else just never want this to end?

TANIRA said: MEEEEEEE

BODHI said: Anyone else just never want this to start??

LOUISE said: bodhi gets it oh god help me poor gorka deserves better than me

TANIRA said: NOBODY OUT TOMORROW THO WE CAN JUST ENJOY IT

PENNY said: oh dear

JYN said: Anyone want to do mine for me?

RITA said: What you got again Jyn?

GEORGE said: Not likely I ca’nt evn do my own

JYN said: Tango fml

JOHN said: She’s got tango

CASEY said: swap for my quickstep?

TANIRA said: TANGOGOGOGO

JYN said: Anyone? Thought not. See you all tomorrow

TANIRA said: SEE YOU TOOMORRRORWWWWW

GEORGE said: Bring it on! Tomorrow! Yeah!

JOHN said: Permission to crash land!

RITA said: See you all bright and early tomorrow loves xx

BODHI said: Can everyone just stop saying tomorrow please

TALLULAH said: For real though…

HAN said: Good luck kids

REBECCA said: Oh nooooo

 

\---

 

It felt like a sleepover - what she supposed sleepovers felt like, what terrible movies had told her they felt like. All the women, professionals and contestants alike, were lined up in front of the lit mirrors as the self-styled Glam Squad toiled tirelessly to Strictlify them all. Twittering, chattering, enthusiastic encouragement... Jyn had never experienced anything like it; how they shared stories and jokes; how they all clustered around poor Rebecca as she sank tearfully into a chair, and how Jyn had said the words "we all love you" to her and she'd meant it, really meant it.

She had her bun back, at least. Or something like it. There was hairspray involved, and curling irons, and a line of crystals hot-glued down her parting; she'd had her dignity jetwashed away, hosed down in an absurd shade of orange; she had more leg showing than one might have guessed that someone of her height even had; her back was unnervingly exposed; her trusty fatigues were a tight and gauzy dress with more beads (in some kind of desert-camouflage array of golds and greens) than she could ever have imagined existed.

In fact, there were a lot of things she could never have imagined until she saw them: khaki voile, for one thing. And she had to admit, for all that her nerves had her teeth chattering and her vision blurry, when she looked in the mirror, she didn't - well, she didn't look like Jyn Erso. She looked like someone beautiful. If only she could move in a manner worthy of the look.

Cassian, of course, looked achingly handsome: hair swept back, a slim-fitting gem-encrusted approximation of a cameraman's outfit, short beard groomed and tidy - well, fuck it, at least they’d look good together.

Dancing with a professional was unlike anything she’d ever known. Cassian was strong, and fast, and led her with such ease she felt… she felt like she could almost believe she was a good dancer. She’d caught herself in the mirror now and then during practice and the illusion vanished, but it was fun, at least, while it lasted. And sometimes it had been just that - just playing, and letting him convince her for a moment that it was all very easy, and getting dressed up had been fun but - shut  _ up _ ,  _ fuck _ , it shouldn’t bother her. It was just a low-backed dress, was all. It was just his hand where it always was. She didn’t need to worry. They’d talked about this. What kind of prim Victorian was she?

“Tell me what I did wrong,” she’d muttered as they left the floor.

“Just do it the same, but look at me more,” he’d said quietly, squeezing her hand. “If you worry about new things now, you’ll just lose it all.”

“Don’t patronise me, Cassian,” she’d warned, turning to face him, ignoring the shake in her voice. “Did I go wrong?”

He’d paused, watched her face. “Yes.”

“Tell me.”

A beat. A decision. “Your top line went out on the third rock and you never got it back. Your feet were sickling, you turned your hips on the corte, and you lost timing in the mid-section down by the staircase.”

Jyn stared at him. He looked harder, harsher.

“Think you can fix all that?” he went on crisply. “No? So when I say just look at me more, I mean it. Fake the  _ attitude  _ of tango. It’s week one. Get the steps right and act, that’s all. And trust me to tell you what you need.”

She swallowed hard and found her voice. “Trust goes both ways,” she said steadily.

He held her gaze, then sighed. “Frame, then. Focus on frame.”

 

\---

 

Frame. Frame. Just get the steps right, and the attitude, and the hold. Steps; attitude; hold. Jyn stood in the corridor as streams of people wearing cans and lanyards squeezed past with clipboards, radio mics, costumes, props... 

“Partner done a runner?” It was Han.

Jyn looked up, her arms still frozen around an imaginary Cassian. “Hair touchup,” she sighed. “God, Han, I totally fucked up our dress.”

“Didn’t we all, peach. Here.” Han stepped into the space inhabited by Imaginary Cassian and took Jyn in hold with a lopsided smile. “I can only walk up and down unless you’re gonna suddenly try and waltz, but…”

She laughed gratefully, and they began an awkward walk up and down the corridor in a confused hybrid of holds. Han was easily the Big Name of their group, and either by status or schedule hadn’t been as involved with the general banter as most of them had, but Jyn found she liked him anyway. His slight roughness made her feel less on edge; one of her own, almost.

“Sorry I’m not quite Natalie’s height,” remarked Jyn wryly at Han’s stoop.

“Yeah, well, who is?”

They shuffled on. “Cassian basically ripped me apart earlier,” Jyn sighed. “I asked for it.”

“That was dumb.”

“No, I did ask him to.”

“I meant you.”

As they reached the far end of the corridor, they made to turn around, and Han backed straight into a young woman in the process of marching past. She was tiny, even smaller than Jyn, but the glare she turned on them was worthy of a giantess.

“Keep the corridor clear,” she bit at them; another American. “We’ve got a lot to get through here.”

“Well, pardon me, your mightiness,” drawled Han, letting go of Jyn to allow the woman through. “And you are?”

“I’m the floor manager,” she answered coldly, “so you go when and where I tell you, hotshot, alright?”

She marched away down the corridor, tiny and trim in her black rollneck, her cans looking absurdly large over her ears.

Jyn laughed nervously. “I should probably find Cassian.”

Han was gaping after the floor manager in indignation as she vanished up the staircase at the other end of the corridor. “Sure,” he said distractedly. “Good luck, peach.”

 

\---

 

“Property presenter Rebecca Trueford and her partner, Giovanni Pernice!” Cheering.

“Star of  _ Triage _ Casey Rowland and his partner, Joanne Clifton!” Cheering.

“Equestrian Louise Dallow and her partner, Gorka Marquez!” Cheering.

Cassian’s hand was tight on Jyn’s waist. “Let’s do this,” he murmured in her ear. The floor manager was running down her clipboard as they moved another step up the staircase. They must have done, because they’d gone up a bit, but Jyn couldn’t feel her feet.

“Actor Kwasei Namor and his partner, Janette Manrara!” Cheering.

“Olympic triathlete Henrietta Falpis and her partner, Kevin Clifton!” Cheering. There was nobody in front of them on their side now.

“From “The Defect”: Bodhi Rook, and his partner, Oti Mabuse!” Cheering.

“Go,” the floor manager said in a low voice, and waved them on. Cassian’s hand tightened further on Jyn’s waist.

“Broadcaster Jyn Erso and her partner, Cassian Andor!” Cheering, or some sort of noise, Jyn assumed, somewhere behind the roaring of blood in her head. She grinned in terror, waved, and started carefully down the stairs, clinging to Cassian in a manner she knew must look hideously ungainly.

“Comedian John Pollard and his partner, Karen Clifton!” Cheering.

Thank god, the camera was off them - they could just make their way to their mark and stand there for a bit.

“Television presenter Tanira Ko and her partner, AJ Pritchard!” Cheering.

“Film star Han Solo and his partner, Natalie Lowe!” Cheering - and seriously, that was cheering on another level - Jyn could tell that even from fathoms below the surface of her terror.

“Actress Rita Sumaris and her partner, Pasha Kovalev!” Cheering.

The band were insanely loud behind her. Jyn became dimly aware that she was supposed to be clapping time to the music - in fact, that she already was - and Cassian, pressed to her shoulder, was doing the same. Was she - yes, good, she was still smiling. A petrified rictus.

“Lifestyle coach Chirrut Imwe and his partner, Aliona Vilani!” Cheering.

“Popstar Tallulah Johnson and her partner, Aljaz Skorjanec!” Cheering.

“Actor George Hopkiss and his partner, Katya Jones!” Cheering.

“Actress and author Penny Wright and her partner, Anton du Beke!” Cheering.

The thing was - the thing  _ was  _ that - petrifying and exposing though the whole situation was - it was sort of...

...well, it was sort of fun.

She  _ liked  _ everybody. She liked the buzz backstage and the community of it all. She actually quite liked the whole frivolous makeover. She even liked learning to dance, in fact; seeing Cassian early each morning, ready to work hard - the process, the practice, the focus - the focus, especially -

If they could just keep all of that and dispense with the whole  _ this _ element of it, well, that would be perfect.

 

\---

 

It wasn't doing much for his own nerves, feeling her shake like that. Maybe he should have let on that this was a big deal for him, too. It might have helped her. On the other hand, it might have shaken her confidence in him. He gave her hand a squeeze as they cleared the floor and trotted up the stairs, and felt her tighten her own grip in return; he glanced at her, and she was staring ahead, jaw set in grim determination.

They'd been put fourth on the lineup, which seemed a decent enough place to him. They could get it over with nice and early and then just enjoy watching everybody else.

He'd seen some of the others in their rehearsals; maybe it was just because he couldn't be objective but he was worried. He didn't mind going out too much. He didn't mind going out early, even. He didn't expect it to go well, as such; he just didn't want Jyn to do badly. But as far as it seemed to him, as far as it felt...

And he worried he'd overdone it after their dress rehearsal but god, she'd pushed him, and his own nerves were shot, and perhaps he'd been too harsh, but if she couldn't trust him to just tell her what would help most then what was even the point? Maybe he'd been wrong.

First up were Bodhi and Oti. Well,  _ there  _ were SOME potential finalists right off the bat, he'd reckoned when he saw their performance... and sure enough, they set the bar high. The guy could salsa, alright; he had great rhythm, unsurprisingly for a musician, and a gifted choreographer in his partner. Yeah, they could go far. The judges gave cautious praise, noting - as he had - his loose free arm, among a couple of other minor points, but Bodhi was positively glowing with delight as he and Oti bounded up the stairs.

Bodhi had cornered Cassian during fittings on Tuesday and chattered away nervously about his holiday in Cancun four years earlier. Cassian had warmed to him immediately, even though he'd had to explain, eventually, that he was from nowhere near Cancun, and had never been, but had heard it was lovely, and he was always grateful when people chose to holiday in his country...

Yep; 7, 8, 7, 7: 29. Pretty good. George dragged Bodhi back into a boisterous hug.

Kwasei was next with a foxtrot - 26, not bad - then Rebecca, oh god... it wasn't a jive so much as a... Cassian couldn't even think of a word for it. She was so sweet, but it was like she was made of rock, and even Giovanni's bouyant enthusiasm struggled to compensate. It was painful to watch. He felt Jyn tense beside him and knew what she was thinking.

"You'll be fine," he said. "Trust me, you will."

If the dance had been hard to watch, the comments were tougher; Darcey was sympathetic, Bruno cruel, and Craig barely uttered a word. As they came up the stairs, Jyn reached out to pat her shoulder. Then an assistant was beckoning them over and they could barely see over the other contestants’ heads to where Giovanni was trying to gee Rebecca up as Claudia offered comfort, and then Rebecca was nodding tearfully as the marks came in: 4 (there was booing in protest), another 4 (fainter booing), another 4, and a final (sympathetic applause).

Their turn. The camera was in their face and Cassian waved as cheerfully as he could. Jyn did a good job of looking happy, too.

“Up next, it’s Jyn and our new boy Cassian making the headlines with a tango!”

And then they were heading down the stairs to get in position with their own voices echoing around the studio as the VT played. There was the line she’d given him - “so I can give as good as I get in the training room at least!” - and there was his own voice - “I’m Cassian Andor, from Mexico; I am the current All-America Latin Open champion and I’ve won five world ranking titles in Latin and Ballroom…”

Jyn was staring at him.

“Focus,” he muttered, steering her to her start position.

“You never said.”

“Did I need to? Focus.” He squeezed her hand and backed away to his starting spot. “You can do this.”

Their voices prattled on, while the crew wheeled their set into place with military efficiency. And then the deep voice:

“Dancing the tango: Jyn Erso and her partner Cassian Andor.”

That was the cue.

“Move over there!” he called, waving from behind the ridiculous giant camera they’d wheeled in front of him.

“No, it’s better here!” she shouted back, rigid and unconvincing, but game.

“Why do you always have to argue with me?”

The music started; she stomped over and he gave the camera a shove, sending it flying away towards a waiting crew member out of shot, and they were in hold.

 

\---

 

Jyn knew the steps. She knew she knew the steps. There was so much to think about - staying close against him, foot placement, god her  _ frame _ , feet, were they turning in? The jib seemed a lot closer than in rehearsal, for some reason - it couldn’t be - it was distracting - fuck, she wasn’t looking at... he was looking at her, stern and fierce - was he mad at her already? No, god, shit, he was acting, she should be acting... She essayed something of the same in return. She did know the steps… she knew she knew them... and here was that turny-turny bit with the head-snap coming up, and… turny-turn, stop, head-snap, ok, good… now down to the corner and were her legs meant to be -? Yeah, no, that was right, oh shit,  _ elbows _ ...

Until suddenly, she and Cassian were in the final position, holding each other’s faces, each others’ eyes, in what was meant to be a fiery showdown. The music stopped. The lights changed. How was it over so fast? That was...

Cassian unfroze, his stern face creasing into a smile as he pulled her in for a hug. They’d done it. Jyn laughed into his chest and hugged him back, panting. Tess’s voice finally penetrated her consciousness.

“Come over here, my lovely, well done, well done…”

Jyn was annoyingly impressed by Tess, who was like some kind of Amazon - tall and glittering in a silver sheath dress with a glittering teeth to match and golden hair cascading down one shoulder. Her broad Cheshire accent (and grin to match) were what transformed her, for Jyn at least, from intimidating to trustworthy, and she shone now like a warm beacon from what seemed like leagues away across a swimming dancefloor. Thank God Cassian’s hold was strong, or Jyn didn’t think she’d make it over there.

“How was that?” beamed the shimmering edifice, taking her hand as she drew near.

Jyn swallowed and nodded, catching her breath with a nervous smile. “Terrifying!”

“Well, you did brilliantly, well done, let’s see what our judges have to say-”

Cassian’s arm went around her again, and Jyn’s heart sank. “Do we have to?” she joked, and Tess laughed.

But Bruno Tonioli, pouting and knife-eyed, was already looking at her like a snack. “Jynnnn, my  _ darling _ ,” he started languidly, “the bossy-boots reporter, ohhhh, she knows what she wants and she’s gonna HAVE IT.” He was all animation suddenly, out of his seat and flailing. “NOT OVER THERE! OVER HERE! IT’S MY WAY OR THE HIGHWAY!” Shirley, beside him, ducked out of the way of his cruel pastiche. He sat back down. “What happens, my darling, is you freeze up like this and then because you are too tense, everything starts to get a bit wild, and you cannot do this in the tango…”

Jyn felt her legs starting to give way. This had been the worst mistake. She was a terrible dancer. She’d just had it confirmed to millions of people. God, make it stop.

“Jyn, first of all -” Darcey was smiling sweetly at her and Jyn gripped Cassian’s side more tightly in trepidation - “gosh, you look absolutely  _ stunning _ , wow, lady!”

Jyn was aware of cheering somewhere under the pounding in her ears and tried a grateful smile.  _ What does that matter? This took a team of ten people… _

“Bruno’s right, there was a lot of rigidity in your top line? So you lost a bit of the control? And I get that you’re trying  _ sooo _ hard to hold that frame that you just tense up around the shoulders? The only thing I would say is just stretch that lovely neck, that would be the only thing, yeah? And try not to tense up. But good job.”

“Good job!” repeated Tess. “Thanks, Darcey. Craig, dare we ask?”

His face was stone. “Uhh… stompy, sexless, rigid - that prop camera had more movement than you, darling.”

The audience booed. And sure, Jyn knew the score; she knew he was bad cop, she knew he’d be the picky one… it didn’t take the sting out.

“Shirley,” Tess bubbled. “Can you save the situation?”

The head judge took off her glasses and leaned forward with a smile. "They’re right, you did tense up, and there was a lot of messy technique, but I saw some good content in there; it was good solid recognisable tango choreography -"

\- Jyn gestured vaguely at Cassian -

"-and you didn't make any mistakes, and I know that you were very nervous so you can be very proud of that, well done."

"‘Well done’!" Tess echoed pointlessly, with a little shake of Jyn’s arm. "We all thought it was great, run on up to Claudia, my lovely."

Jyn felt a tug at her hand and followed Cassian numbly at a jog across the floor and up the stairs. She was aware of her fellow contestants clapping and patting her as she made her way through them to the spot where she had to face - god, she had to face saying stuff now. There was Claudia, almost as little as herself, peering through her black fringe and black eyeliner as she took her hand. Why did everyone insist on this hand thing?

"Well done, your first dance!" she chattered. "You must be very proud of her, Cassian?"

Jyn heard him beside saying quietly that she'd worked hard and he was pleased with her. She hadn't looked at him since finishing the dance yet, couldn't bear to look at how his smile would have changed to disappointment. But surely he must have known?

Claudia turned back to her. "How are you feeling? Because you were so, so nervous."

She nodded fervently. "Yeah, it's -" shit, no, she couldn't choke - "I'm just sorry for letting Cassian down really, it's..."

"You did really well," he murmured, jostling her.

"We were all yelling up here," Claudia agreed. "We don't know what Craig was talking about, we just went WHAT, you were great! Uh, scores are in."

Jyn was just wondering when she'd last drawn a breath when the recorded voice boomed through the studio: "The judges have their scores! Craig Revel-Horwood."

"Three."

There was uproar. Someone yelped “What?!” She felt Cassian's grip tighten painfully on her arm. Whether it was in anger, or just to keep her standing, she couldn't tell.

"Darcey Bussell."

"It was better than that, six!"

Thank god. The booing turned to cheers.

"Shirley Ballas."

"Six."

"Bruno Tonioli."

"Five."

"Twenty!" chirped Claudia, turning back to them. "Let's not talk about Craig. I don't. Ever. It’s better that way. Twenty, how's that?"

Jyn managed a laugh. "I guess I'm halfway perfect already," she quipped.

"Yes, exactly, I like that, good." Claudia turned to the camera. "And I've got good news! That's your best score of the series so far! Ha. Good job. Tess."

"Thanks, Claudia. Next up it's Rita Sumaris and Pasha Kovalev..."

And they were done.

 

\---

 

Cassian watched Jyn grimly as she turned around to face him, expecting to see her tearful, accusatory... instead-

"Jive," she muttered firmly under the sound of Rita's VT. "I'll YouTube it tomorrow, I'll be ready for you Monday."

It was like something had flipped in her brain as soon as the camera went off them. She was burning with determination, some sort of furnace that forged steel from the heat of her embarrassment. He could work with that.

He couldn’t, however, work with this: how as the show went on she constantly seemed to find other people to put between them as they leaned over the railing to cheer their fellow dancers; how she sat with her body turned  _ just so _ , a clear statement that his contact was not welcome; how she said more under the VTs to John, to Han, to Tanira - in fact to just about everybody else - than she did to him at all. As if it were his fault; as if she blamed him.

Should she?

Shit, it had stung when Rita came through right after them with 27. Quite the gap. And then Chirrut had astounded with a graceful Viennese Waltz that completely belied his blindness. Sure, they’d been in hold the whole time but he’d  _ led  _ her, just about. How did he do that? 26 for him, and well-deserved.

Now Henrietta: she was a surprise. Cassian could see the same in her as he could in Jyn - something that broke loose now and again and whispered of promise, still bound too tight by habit and unfamiliarity, but her American Smooth was… well, smooth, at least. She had a sportswoman’s focus; she’d be competitive; she’d work hard.

Five, five, five, five. Twenty; the same as them.

He glanced over at Jyn, at the fire beneath her smile as she applauded, and allowed himself a small smile too. Competitive was  _ good _ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \---==] WEEK 1 LEADERBOARD: [==---  
> Tallulah & Aljaz: 30 (7,8,7,8)  
> Bodhi & Oti: 29 (7,8,7,7)  
> Rita & Pasha: 27 (6,7,7,7)  
> Han & Natalie: 28 (7,7,7,7)  
> Kwasei & Janette: 26 (6,7,7,6)  
> Chirrut & Aliona: 26 (6,7,6,7)  
> Tanira & AJ: 25 (6,6,6,7)  
> Casey & Joanne: 22 (5,5,5,6)  
> Jyn & Cassian: 20 (3,6,6,5)  
> Henrietta & Kevin: 20 (5,5,5,5)  
> George & Katya: 19 (4,6,4,5)  
> Penny & Anton: 18 (4,4,5,5)  
> John & Karen: 18 (4,5,5,4)  
> Louise & Gorka: 17 (4,4,4,5)  
> Rebecca & Giovanni: 16 (4,4,4,4)


	4. Review Time with Danielle Conaty!

_ The annual season of sequins, shimmies and strutting is upon us! Our special guest columnist Danielle Conaty will be tracking the tangos and tantrums as they unfold each week between now and Christmas. _

Following the launch show’s slightly limp group dance, expectations were teetering somewhat for this year’s crop of semi-celebs, but last night went to show exactly what two weeks of training can do - for some.

As expected, this year’s blonde popstrel (in the form of Kittykiss member Tallulah Riley) outperformed everyone with a sparkling cha cha, setting her top of the leaderboard, just ahead of her fellow popstar, Bodhi Rook (formerly of The Defect - remember them?). No surprises that the musical talent should lead the field this early on. Their previous dance experience might go against them in the public vote, though - we know how much the audience loves a good Journey!

Ruggedly dreamy Han Solo - easily the biggest name in this year’s lineup - was surprisingly elegant in his waltz. Almost yummy enough to pull my eyes away from pro dancer Gorka Marquez... I wonder if Han’s lucky partner, leggy Natalie, was “Left Blind”-ed by his effortless charm! (Sorry, couldn’t resist. Fave movie!) And talking of blind - can I say that? - Chirrut Imwe was another one waltzing to comparative victory, though how he’ll get on once Aliona gets her claws out of him and he has to fend for himself remains to be seen.

Meanwhile,  _ Knocking Through’s _ Rebecca Trueford set the tone for the lower end of the leaderboard with a look-away-NOW jive, and there was nothing funny about comedian John Pollard’s tortuous paso doble, who I think is meant to be this year’s “comic” act. Poor old Anton has once again been lumped with a clanger as Penny Wright got it all wrong. But easily the most excruciating was Louise Dallow’s mangled attempt at a cha-cha (never a good dance at the best of times) to the Osmonds’  _ Crazy Horses _ . We get it, she likes horses!  (What else? A rumba to  _ Wild Horses _ ? Quickstep to  _ Black Horse and the Cherry Tree _ ? Paso to  _ Dark Horse _ ? Suggestions on a postcard to Gorka!)

As usual at the start of the series, the pack in the middle are all pretty indistinguishable unless you already know their names; it’s a dangerous place to be ahead of the first public vote. Sitting pretty (pretty forgettable) in the middle are all the ones you have to pretend you’ve heard of. At least newsreader Jyn Erso can lay claim to the wisecrack of the night: being “halfway to perfect”, having scored 20! At least she's a glass half full kinda girl but I think it's more like halfway down to nothing, sadly, as that tango was fairly miserable (and come on,  _ News of the World? _ Are these song choices meant to be funny?).

Also memorable for all the wrong reasons was  _ Harverton _ ’s Rita Sumaris, ill-suited to what was better termed an American Lumpy in a dress that was nothing short of cruel. Put the thighs away, Rita! We don’t want to see!

Place your bets for the very first dance-off next week, when we’ll get an idea of who the public likes (please not Penny); it’s always anyone’s game at this stage and with different dances and only one week’s training instead of two, it’s all to play for!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think we're probably going to have to deal with Danielle's opinions and internalised misogyny on a weekly basis, folks. Sorry.


	5. Week Two (Sunday)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after the night before

TANIRA said: WE DID ITTTTT!!!!!!!! OHhhh my god, anyone else’s head WRECKDE today?!?!??

HAN said: ...How are you awake already?

TANIRA said: BUZZINGGG, fellow walzter! Also possilby still drunk! What’s YOUR excuse bigshot?

HAN said: Drink a smoothie and go back to bed.

JYN said: Funny you should say that…

TANIRA said: Already got one!

TANIRA said: Smoothieeeeeeee YES babe!!!

JYN said: Are you sure this works?

HAN said: Where did you go last night?

TANIRA said: The ginger will settle your stomahc and the courgette will hydrate you babe it’s EPIC I’m totally gonna need another one in a couple of hours lol

JYN said: home

TANIRA said: Yeah you and Bohdi both went really early!! EYY????

JYN said: Sorry. Did he too

TANIRA said: !!! GOSS?

HENRIETTA said: Errrrrrr don’t think so Tanira. Go back to bed..?

JYN said: Haven’t had that much in ages, just needed to get home. Urffffff.

LOUISE said: tan you know bodhi has a boyfriend right

TANIRA said: OMG IM SO SORRY BOHDI BABE OMG KILL ME NOW ARHG

JOHN said: Ho ho all we all feeling a bit worse for ware?

JYN said: fuck yes

LOUISE said: who knew anton was such a party animal penny’s not gonna be able to look him in the eye

JOHN said: #ageinggoals

HENRIETTA said: ey Lou is Gorka single? :P

LOUISE said: be my guest not like he’s going to be dancing with me much longer!

JOHN: HETTY BEHAVE!

JYN said: You were undermarked, sis

HENRIETTA said: Literally nobody does well in the cha cha Lou don’t worry about it!! We can all be proud of ourselves! What you got next?

REBECCA said: im literally dying

LOUISE said: foxtrot it’s a conspiracy i’m screwed

REBECCA said: why am i awake

REBECCA said: alive even

JOHN said: If I went around you all last night telling you I love you IT’S COS I DO

GEORGE said: hi everyone does anyone have a gillotine or something that will end my suffering

TANIRA said: ME TOOOO JOHN YOUR HUGS ARE THE BEST <3 <3 <3

REBECCA said: let me know when youre done with it georgie

JYN said: I want a turn too

TANIRA said: WHY IS IT JUST US THOUGH

JOHN said: Totally worth it

TANIRA said: add your partnerrrrrrs!!!

JYN said: really

**TANIRA added AJ to the conversation**

LOUISE said: hes nice jyn

HENRIETTA said: great idea!

**LOUISE added GORKA to the conversation**

AJ said: hi everyone!

**JOHN added KAREN to the conversation**

**HENRIETTA added KEVIN to the conversation**

**TANIRA added KATYA to the conversation**

**TANIRA added PASHA to the conversation**

**TANIRA added GIOVANNI to the conversation**

GEORGE said: bloody hell Tanira hav you got everybodies number?

**TANIRA added CASSIAN to the conversation**

AJ said: who’s nice? :P

**TANIRA added NATALIE to the conversation**

HAN said: I’m going back to bed

JYN said: I’ll follow you

**TANIRA added ALIONA to the conversation**

HENRIETTA said: ?????????!!!!!

HAN said: dream on, shortcake

JOHN said: WELL WELL

**TANIRA added ANTON to the conversation**

JYN said: not what I meant ugh Tan the courgette is failing me

**GEORGE added ALJAZ to the conversation**

**HENRIETTA added OTI to the conversation**

JYN said: Nobody ever listen to Tan’s smoothie recipes ever again ok? Goodnight all.

CASSIAN said: hi

REBECCA said: this is too much and too many people for my poor hurting head

LOUISE said: !buenas dias!

CASSIAN said: :)

JYN said: buenas noches quiero morir

**TANIRA added JOANNE to the conversation**

GEORGE said: Tanira please stop we’re dying

LOUISE said: Gorka’s been teaching me

KWASEI said: either my phone has been possessed by Ann Summers or you are all up way too early

**TANIRA added JANETTE to the conversation**

 

\---

 

Vrrrrp. Vrrrrp. Vrrrrp. Vrrrrp.

Jyn scrabbled around in settings to switch off the chat notifications, then peered suspiciously into her beaker at the pale green mess she was chugging. Whatever. It wasn’t doing any damage, at least, except for an unpleasant splat on her glasses from where she hadn’t put the lid on the blender properly.

The apartment had a heated floor, which was pleasant under her bare feet; she couldn’t bring herself to face replacing her thin pyjamas with something that represented a contract with starting the day just yet. She sloped over to the breakfast bar and clambered into one of the tall chairs (why were they so tall and hard?), taking another mouthful of gingery courgette pulp, and swiped down her notifications.

GOD. A fucking voicemail from Sephi… fine, go on then…

_ “Hi Jyn, it’s Sephi here, just following up from my last message, aware we haven’t caught up for a while now. I know you’re busy but please give me a call and we can find a time. Great job last night, looking forward to hearing all about it. Call me when you get the chance please.” _

Jyn sighed at her screen and deleted the voicemail, took a sip of smoothie, sighed again, and opened a text message.

_ Thanks. Busy with training; will call soon. Doing fine. J < _

She was persistent. Jyn supposed that ought to be a comfort in some ways, but it was just a pain in the arse. Talking to Sephi was the last thing she wanted; bringing everything up again or just sitting and shrugging, not sure which was worse or which got her closer to not having to talk to her again.

Jyn pulled off her glasses and cleaned them on her pyjama vest, smearing courgette across the hem.

Vrrrp-vrrrp. Text.

_ > So YouTube today? I can send some links if you want. _

Cassian. Bloody perfect.

_ When I’m alive. < _

No response, and she should have been relieved... she wasn’t. She sighed.

_ Sorry for going weird. < _

There was another long pause. Maybe they should move to a platform where she could tell if he was typing or not. Or maybe he should just get a sodding iPhone like a normal person.

_ > No problem. I’ll bring breakfast tomorrow. What do you like? _

She was about to write “it’s ok, I’ll sort myself” but… god, it wasn’t his fault she was shit, was it. He’d done his best with her. She’d done her best with herself.  _ I didn’t do my best with him. _

_ You’re on. Surprise me, Captain Android. < _

 

\---

 

Vrrrrp. Vrrrrp. Vrrrrp. Vrrrrp.

Cassian huffed out a short laugh across the surface of his coffee as he watched the notifications crowd each other down his homescreen. He was going to have to switch that off if he wanted to get the new choreography planned today.

He took a quick screenshot and opened a new message to send it.

_ Esta gente está loca! < _

_ Mantenerte bien. Saluda a mamá < _

Not that she’d reply, of course. She never did. He’d be inclined to think she’d changed her number, except that there was always, eventually, “seen by Ximena”. No point not trying, anyway; then it’d only be “we never even hear from you” on top of everything else.

Whatever.

Cassian rubbed his face and flipped over to the music app. At least there was work to do. Jyn might not be in a state to do much this morning, but he was ready to get going. Nice as it had been to go out with everyone, he wasn’t really much use at that sort of thing.

He’d talked to Karen for a while about food, fixed a date for dinner in a couple of weeks’ time, all the while looking around to see where Jyn was. Usually, nowhere near him.

The curious thing was that for the most part, the couples seemed to stay in - well, couples. Not that there was a divide - Tess, Claudia, the judges, half the crew - everyone fitted in, everyone seemed happy and like they were having fun… but the pairs of dancers still, by and large, hung close to each other. Perhaps it was security for the contestants, more than anything. Tanira, Casey, John and Han cruised the room with the most ease, and he had a good chat with Louise because he’d never ridden a horse but quite liked the idea.

But he wondered if anyone else noticed, as he did, the distance Jyn kept. He stuck around with one eye on her, watching her get sedately tipsy, watching her laugh more freely but always with that curious, sideways, protected stance, that taut readiness, as if any minute someone was going to call a fire drill. Until he looked up again, and around, and she was nowhere to be seen, and it was 11pm, and he’d decided it was still early enough to just walk back to the apartment he was being put up in. There always reached a point in the evening when it was tricky being the only sober one, anyway. It wasn’t just like he didn’t have any reason to stay just because she’d gone.

He scrolled through his music list. Set the dance today; start teaching tomorrow; have it ready by Thursday; studio rehearsal Friday… they were called for  _ It Takes Two _ on Tuesday as well, which meant they’d lose a good part of their afternoon’s training getting ready for that.

The good thing about the jive, he mused, was that they wouldn’t have the whole issue of being in hold. Plus, Jyn had that compact kind of energy that he could maybe turn to their advantage. Her unprompted apology gave him hope. If the hardest thing about this week was simply having to listen to Taylor Swift a hundred times a day, things could be worse.

Time to work. He hit play and closed his eyes.

 

\---

 

Jyn hit pause and closed her eyes. Fuck. It was so fast and precise… she’d thought the tango was bad enough. Thanks to Louise, who was apparently a superfan of the show, she now had a list of the best jives in Strictly history and it made for depressing viewing. She knew for a fact that whatever her best efforts might be, however patient Cassian might remain, she couldn’t produce anything close to that in the space of one week.

She’d finished her smoothie and had a pint of water and a piece of toast, and had thought she was fine, but God, the sheer  _ speed  _ of this shit was bringing her nausea back.

She navigated away and searched instead for videos on basic technique, and watched the first few seconds of one or two before quitting YouTube. Screw this. More toast. Then -

_ > Good to hear from you. _

Ahh, shit.

_ > Let me know when suits but I’d like to see you before Saturday if possible. _

Jyn slammed down the toaster switch fiercely and sighed.

_ Busy week. Doing fine. Next week? < _

Sephi would obviously know that was jam tomorrow. And sure enough, just like that, it rang. Jyn leaned against the worktop and pulled off her glasses, letting it ring for a moment before answering, just out of spite.

“Sephi, hi.”

“Jyn, good to hear your voice at last. It’s been a while.” Her tone was placid, friendly, flat. As ever.

“Yeah, I know, sorry.”

“Well done for last night.”

Jyn raised an eyebrow at the painting on the wall opposite her. Those blurry little yachts didn’t deserve her derision, but Sephi was regrettably - or perhaps fortunately - not there in person to receive it.

“It wasn’t great,” she answered. “I’ve started work on the next one already.”

“That’s great. Sounds like you’re-”

“Sephi, look, I  _ will _ come and see you...”

There was a pause. Then Sephi’s voice again, the same edgeless pleasance. “You know you’re under no obligation,” she said.

_ Bullshit. _ Jyn had the distinct feeling that Sephi knew exactly what obligation she was under.

“I know,” was what she said. “Look, are you free tomorrow?”

“I can see you at 8am.”

Jyn winced.

Sephi went on, “Phil might be able to reschedule some things for me on Tuesday afternoon if you’re-”

“Tuesday afternoon’s out,” interrupted Jyn. “Ok, see you tomorrow.”

“Good. I’m looking forward to talking to you again.”

“You don’t do the talking, as I recall,” Jyn quipped, regretting it immediately.

“No.”

“Ok, bye.”

“Have a good day.”

Jyn hung up. _Fuck._

 

\---

 

_ > Ugh, I can’t make it for breakfast tomorrow. So sorry. Something’s come up I can’t get out of, work thing, over in Marylebone. Will make it up to you. Should be there for 9:30, taxi n traffic permitting. _

Cassian switched off the music, left his phone on the table and went for a walk.


	6. Week Two (Monday)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated with thanks especially to itigo123, who didn't give up on me when I didn't update for five months (oh my god has it really been five months) and as always to my encouraging and patient beta, yavemiel - go read her stuff, she's awesome

Cassian was silk in the air. He span and leapt, twisting, landing, allowing himself to go where the music took him. It wasn’t a release so much as an expression - he didn’t find, when dancing, that he forgot himself; it was more like… more like he found himself more easily, processed himself. It was a monologue made movement.

The door banged open behind him - finally. An irrational petulance told him to pay no mind, but he pushed it aside, broke off, and headed back to his phone to stop the music.

“You made it then,” he said, not looking round at her as the room fell silent, but for the sound of her bags and coat hitting the floor.

“Yeah, alright, thanks for that,” she snapped, and sat down to change her shoes. “Actually I personally phoned every taxi in London to drive as slowly as possible in front of mine.”

“Yeah,” he agreed sourly. “Well, as long as your work brunch was nice.”

The look she shot him could have cut bricks. “It _wasn’t_ brunch,” she began crisply, “it _wasn’t_ nice, and it _wasn’t_ my choice. I’m sorry I’m late, it couldn’t be helped, I’m here, so - let’s go.”

She had stopped, one foot bare, her ponytail already falling out from where her bag strap had caught over her head coming in, and her miserable defiance put Cassian in mind of a cornered fox. His irritation suddenly felt oddly like remorse.

He checked the wall clock and pushed his hair back from where it stuck to his forehead. “Take five,” he offered. “It’s okay; just get yourself together.”

“I’d rather just get on,” she muttered, turning back to her shoes. “It’s almost half ten already.”

“No,” he said firmly. “There’s no point racing into it. Take a breather, warm up; I’ll be right back.” Ignoring her protests, he left the studio and made his way down the corridor. From the other doors he passed, he could hear the sounds of the kids in their lessons; here a chorus of voices singing vowel sounds in passionate harmony, here a piano under a voice yelling ballet vocabulary, here the voices of a girl and a boy declaiming what sounded possibly like Shakespeare, but Cassian wasn’t familiar with enough to know for sure.

He’d always enjoyed this strange sense of illegitimate freedom, from slipping out of lessons at school as a boy and making his way to the bathroom down empty corridors, hearing the sounds of others hard at work and feeling like he didn’t really exist at all, nobody aware of him, nobody to see him. It was the same now, loping down the concrete stairway of a performing arts school he didn’t even attend: a peculiar, but not unpleasant, sensation of escape.

Through a set of double doors, and another, and he was in the school’s canteen, where the illusion broke under the fragile weight of a handful of students in sports bras and leggings chattering animatedly. Cassian came back to himself, ignoring the giggles from the girls and the loud proposition from one of them that prompted a wave of gasps, hysterics and mortified shouted apologies.

 

Jyn was trying not to think about what Sephi would make of the fact Cassian had bailed on her as soon as she walked in and snapped at him. That was the problem with Sephi; that kind of thinking stuck with you all bloody week, the stupid “why is this and why is that and how can I” and so on. One of these days, Jyn was tempted to fabricate an entire anecdote about her early childhood and see how much Sephi thought it Explained Everything.

Not worth it. She just wanted her job back. Play along, talk to Sephi, do the fucking… _dancing_ thing… show them it was fine. It was going fine.

“How’s it going?”

She looked up from her stretch to see Cassian holding out a cardboard cup with a plastic lid.

“It’s shit coffee,” he went on, “but it’s coffee. Go on.”

She eyed him suspiciously. “Shouldn’t I be hydrating or something?”

He kept holding out the cup and grinned. “You can be as hydrated as you want but I don’t want to dance with Jyn Erso before she’s had coffee.”

Jyn made a sideways nod of acknowledgement and accepted the cup. “Tell me about jive while I’m drinking.”

“Do you know what it looks like?”

“Oh, God -” He was right. It _was_ shit coffee. “Louise sent me some links…”

“Oh, yeah?” Cassian folded himself against the wall beside her and grinned sideways. “She loves the show, right?”

She nodded, cup still against her chin, enjoying the heat of the steam on her nose. “Aliona and… fuck, who was… black hair… and Joanne and someone… and Jill and Darren? And they all won, she said.”

Cassian shrugged. “I’ve never seen it in this country. Anyway, so you know how it looks, it’s fast, it’s pumping. The thing is it looks like it’s all in the kicking out, yes? But you have to put all that energy again into pulling your foot back _in_.” He pushed himself up and stood in front of her. “Out, in.” A whiplash-fast kick. “You just do the kick and let it flop back in on its own and it’s like…” He did something very different.

Jyn laughed and swallowed another mouthful of the bad brown, feeling caffeine nonetheless start to wipe Sephi away. If this coffee _contained_ any caffeine. Of indeed any coffee.

“That was still better than I’ll manage,” she told him dubiously as he kicked again.

“Judo, come on,” was all he said.

“You keep bringing that up.”

“It’s cool.”

Jyn laughed again and shook her head. “Come on, show me the dance, coffee-bringer, Taylor-Swift-inflictor.”

Cassian hummed absently, heading to the iPhone dock in the corner of the room.

“Taylor the _what_?”

“Oh. Latte Boy. It’s a song. This will look strange on my own.”

“I’m hoping so.”

It didn’t. It looked fucking phenomenal. Even with the bits where he just gestured at the air to indicate that she would be doing something - shit, she would be _doing something_ \- snapped with drive and precision. It was sharp, it was purposeful… and it was joyful. Cassian’s grin didn’t belie the effort one jot.

The song ended, and really, there should have been a breathless silence, Jyn should have applauded, something, but Cassian shrugged cheerfully and pushed his hair back, and then, impossibly, the shuffle moved onto The Monster Mash. He hurtled back to his phone in alarm and stopped it.

Jyn lost it, and it felt good.

“Ignore that,” Cassian laughed. “That’s just…”

“Your favourites playlist,” she teased. “I know.”

“Absolutely my favourite,” he agreed, coming back over to her, and he held out his hand.

Jyn sighed. “Do I have to? Can you just rework the dance so you do what you just did and I sit at the side with a shit coffee?” When he didn’t move, she rolled her eyes, put down the empty cardboard cup and took his hand.

He pulled her up.

 

This time, he didn’t try to start with technique. It was straight into learning the routine, like she’d wanted with the tango. Jyn wasn’t sure if he was being kind or if it was just that there was so much to learn - there was _so much_ to learn - that it was better she just learn the goddamn routine and not worry about it looking any good. Better than sitting at the side with a shit coffee, probably. Or maybe not. Whatever. She was here.

She was here, and it wasn’t good, but it was alright. The music jumped and skipped where Cassian had roughly cut it up and stitched it together into 90 seconds. She kept losing her place. He kept using words she didn’t know and looking annoyed. Go back, go back, show me again, let’s do it again. Ready for more? No, but let’s. Then add that to that - go back, show me again, let’s do it again. Is that right? That’s ok. But is it right? Not quite. Right, go back, let’s do it again.

Lunchtime.

Already?

 

“Already?” Jyn glanced at the clock above the door and laughed.

Cassian laughed too, pushing his towel across his face, and quietly wished he felt the same. He wanted to slow down, to encourage her, but she wasn’t having it. She kept pressing on like a thing possessed, determination burning in her like rage. It was impressive, but alarming, exhausting, and he was sure he was one wrong move from having it turn back to rage and fired at him. And he kept using words she couldn’t possibly know. It made him feel like a useless teacher, and it annoyed him - but he’d never taught a complete beginner before. It was just what you called it. It was like explaining the alphabet when you were meant to be teaching someone to recite poetry.

But she was getting there, alright. He started unscrewing the top of his empty water flask.

“You’re doing great,” he said truthfully. “We’re halfway, you know.”

“Only halfway?” she joked.

“Seriously, that’s good. I had hoped for halfway by lunchtime anyway and -”

“Yeah…”

He instantly regretted the allusion to their late start. “No, really, it’s great.”

She touched her toes and shook out, then seemed to hesitate. “I forgot to bring lunch. I was - I forgot.”

Something teetered on an invisible edge. Cassian could feel it seesaw, some sort of vertigo. She looked uncertain, to him, and wary, and hopeful, or maybe none of those, but -

“What do you fancy?” he asked.

Jyn shrugged noncommittally. “I don’t know. Panini or something.”

“Let’s go.”

And there it was. It seemed mad to Cassian that they’d worked together for two full weeks already and this was something new, but there it was, and now here it was. He grinned and pushed the door open ahead of her.

The corridor now was more populated with young people - leggings and sports bras, tank tops and sweatpants, kids in pairs going over lines on crumpled photocopies in the corners, kids in groups stretching ostentatiously by the lockers. Outside, it was raining - as they went through the door and onto the street, Jyn pulled the thin fabric of her hoodie over her head.

“So who’s our competition?” Jyn suddenly asked.

Cassian looked across at her with a lopsided smile. “Feeling competitive?”

She shrugged. “This is a competition, isn’t it? We’re competing.”

They turned left on the corner and crossed over, past the bright flowers of the stall outside the tube station, sunshine yellows and chaotic pinks that splashed incongruously through the flat drizzle.

“Ourselves, right now,” he answered at length. “We’ve just got to focus.”

“Ah, come on.” She nudged him playfully. It was unfamiliar and unexpected, and he laughed, nudging her back. He did it carefully; she was walking on the road side. But he said nothing.

“Come on,” she pressed. “Don’t be a politician about it. Who are we watching out for, and who are we aiming for? Let’s say, oh, this week we want to beat X, move our way up.”

“It doesn’t work like that,” he grinned, and for a moment the rain ceased threading down on them as they crossed below the railbridge. “I’m not being… I’m not - is diplomatic a word?”

“Yeah, diplomatic.”

“Diplomatic, right, no,” he said. “I’m serious. Sure, I mean, you know who we really want to beat?”

“If you say “ourselves” again, I’m going to turn right round and get the next tube out of here,” she warned.

“Everyone,” said Cassian. They crossed out of the bridge and back into the rain. “Aim for the top. But be satisfied with improvement.”

“Cassian.”

They walked in silence for a moment.

“Cassian, I’m not stupid.”

“No, you’re not,” he agreed firmly. “So aim for the top, and be satisfied with improvement.”

“The _top_ , God, Cassian, I got bloody 20…”

“ _We_ got 20.”

“Tallulah or -”

“Yeah, don’t aim to beat Tallulah.” He felt her look at him quizzically, but kept squinting forward through the drizzle. “Aim for the top. The top isn’t Tallulah, the top isn’t Henrietta or George or Han, the top isn’t you, it’s just the top. That’s all it means.”

“Bloody athlete,” she muttered. “You’ve got that sport psychology thing.”

“Maybe.”

“Well, I’m not fooling myself we’ll make it to the final,” she said. “But I want to.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, I want to win.”

“Good. Me too.”

Costa, by the time they reached it, was already busy with the lunch queues, but there was a small table in the corner. Jyn made off toward it at a pelt, already shedding her hoodie to clothe the back of the chair. It was stained dark with rain, and her hair beneath was frizzed with dried sweat.

“I’ll get lunch,” Cassian called after her. She turned back, mouth a little open.

“What?”

“What do you want?”

“Uh - panini, whatever’s there, nothing with rocket, thanks.”

Cassian stood in line and watched her settle at the table. She pulled out her phone. Her face sank into that blank, pale-lit blankness common to the act.

He pulled out his phone. He didn’t even dare to look at the WhatsApp notifications, just dismissed them immediately. A few alerts from Twitter, and - he scrolled down - 

_> Guess who’s in London, amigo._

Cassian gaped.

_????! <_

“Yes, please.” The demanding, harassed voice of the barista chivvied him back to the room.

“These.” Cassian held up the two sandwiches he’d pulled off the counter. “Triple-shot Americano, and a skim flat white.”

 

Jyn glanced up from her phone. Cassian was staring at his - she rolled her eyes internally; wasn’t he always? - as he waited at the end of the counter. She wondered what kept him so engrossed all the time. Then she remembered the glowing red number on her WhatsApp notifications. Probably that. It wasn’t like he had someone like Sephi hounding him -

Jyn did a double take. She had hardly thought about her session all morning. Extraordinary.

Cassian swung up to the table and plonked her coffee down. “Triple-shot Americano.”

“Oh God... you can’t just keep buying me coffees.”

“You get the next four.”

She laughed appreciatively and raised her cup. “Deal.”

 

Lunch was easy. They talked about nothing much: the studio, Cassian’s explorations of London, Tanira’s juice obsession, whether Taylor Swift was kind of a snake, whether Taylor Swift was _literally_ a snake and the royal family were all secretly lizard people... (“It’s a genuine theory,” Jyn assured him. “The Beatles too.” “Our president is definitely a lizard man.” “Definitely.”)

They were interrupted twice by excited, deferent people asking for autographs - it didn’t escape Jyn’s notice that their eyes slid mainly to Cassian, even as she wrote her name. Well, he was good-looking and talented. Well, he _was!_ Meanwhile, she was not exactly a household name. She didn’t mind. Signing autographs wasn’t really what she wanted from life.

And Jyn, in between chatting easily, and joking, and endeavouring to be polite to fans while she had frizzly lettuce half hanging out of her mouth, found she was looking forward to getting back to dancing.

It was a strange feeling.

By the time they got back to the studio, she was bounding ahead of him.

“Come on,” she chivvied, as he laughed his way through the door after her. “We’ve got Poppy’s Hell Team coming to catch up with us tomorrow and I want to have this down!”

Cassian slung his bag into the corner of the studio. “Right, let’s see what you remember and then let’s try it with the music.”

Jyn was pretty pleased with herself, actually. A couple of blank moments -

(“Nope, that’s where we -”

“Oh, yeah, the doop de doop badow bit.”

“The - yeah, good, ok, go back.”)

\- but mostly, she had it remembered.

“Ok,” said Cassian, “good. Now from there, you’ve brought your foot round, so we’re next to each other - hold on - let’s face the mirror here -”

Jyn burst out laughing as they turned. “Oh my god, I’m so tiny, look at you.”

His reflection grinned at her. “You’re not that small.”

“Lucky for your back I have to wear heels,” she countered.

“Unlucky for yours.”

She made a face of grim assent. “Ok, so I’m next to you, now what?”

“This is our side-by-side section,” he told her. “It’s not complicated steps but this is the bit I think will be hardest -”

“- oh, goodie! -”

“- because it - yes, goodie - because it has to be really precise. We’re doing the same thing at the same time.”

“Not to expose me or anything.”

“It will a bit, yeah, but let’s say show you off, more than expose.”

Jyn raised an eyebrow at the version of Cassian looking at her encouragingly from the mirror. “You’re telling me I have to dance side by side with a professional and get it exactly the same at exactly the same time in front of millions of people and that’s me showing off?”

“Come on.”

He showed her the sequence. Alright, it wasn’t too complicated, and now she was almost used to the jive basics she picked it up reasonably well, but it was another question entirely doing it next to him.

“My feet aren’t going to kick as high as yours,” she observed.

“It’s not the height,” he answered. “It’s the angle. We have to match, not kick a target.”

Even then, her movements looked, to her, sloppy and lifeless compared to Cassian’s sharp, pumping movements. Well, they still had till Saturday night, and he said she was doing alright, and she was damned if she was going to let a stupid dance get the better of her.

Before she knew it, they had the whole dance set, and even ran it once. Cassian had a magical app which could change the tempo of the music - which did extremely strange stretchy things to poor Taylor’s voice, but it was good to know how the routine worked with the music. More than once, steps she hadn’t really understood were making perfect sense when she realised what was happening in the music, so doing the whole thing to music felt great. Even when she watched the mirror-versions of herself and Cassian, and saw how vast the gulf was between their abilities, she felt fine.

It was only when she finally collapsed onto the couch in her apartment and started scrolling through WhatsApp to catch up that she realised she’d actually hugged Cassian goodbye as they parted.


End file.
